


Charcoal and Ink

by WanderingAlice



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Outed by a sketchbook, Period-Typical Homophobia, steve draws bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 18:30:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4447088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingAlice/pseuds/WanderingAlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve used to draw Bucky a lot, back before the war. Some of these sketchbooks were full of compromising drawings from his own imagination. After he is presumed dead, all his sketchbooks, along with most of his possessions, end up in the Smithsonian archives. One day, a bored intern finds them and ignites a debate about Steve's sexuality. Steve himself eventually confirms the rumors. Only, nobody told Bucky that you can't get arrested for being gay in New York anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charcoal and Ink

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I fully had no intention of writing anything else until I was done with Ten Times, but this just sort of popped out today. I couldn't convince myself to do any actual packing, like I should be, because I'm still too sore from my fall off the damn waterfall on Saturday, and all I managed to do was look through some old sketchbooks of mine that I was planning on leaving at my site to cut down on the weight in my suitcases (I'm finishing my Peace Corps service). I found one that I realized I can't leave, at least not without heavy editing, because it's got some rather, ah, compromising images I drew from my overactive imagination. And it's not safe for people at my site to find out I'm a lesbian until I've left the country, so I really don't want it falling into the hands of my host family. That thought prompted this story, which sort of wrote itself. Fair warning, my head is still a little fuzzy from the fall and whatnot, so... take that as you will. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this story! Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think!! Also, feel free to stop by my tumblr and say hi!- Wanderingalicewrites.tumblr.com

_Charcoal and ink on paper, found under the floorboards in Captain Rogers’ apartment_ reads the tag on one of the many sketchbooks the Smithsonian has stored in its vaults. A young research assistant set to catalog them sighs and picks it up. It’s only the hundredth sketchbook she’s looked through today, and she’s not even getting paid for this. She’d thought interning at the Smithsonian would be fascinating, not endless days of looking through the possessions of some old, dead war hero her dad idolized. The last box had been stacks of sketchbooks filled with landscapes and buildings, so she doesn’t expect much more when she flips open the cover. What she finds is better than porn. It’s page after page of nudes, all of the same guy. The artist devoted considerable time on every one, obviously trying to get it perfect, down to the last detail. The man, whoever he is, is  _beautiful._ And, if these were really drawn from life,  _very_ flexible. She spends ages flipping through the book, staring. Then she finds the picture of the guy wearing nothing but his dog-tags, and  _that_ is the image she is going to be cuming to tonight, because  _holy hell_ . The man (the tags read  _Barnes_ ) is looking up at the artist with a smirk on his lips and clear invitation in his eyes. Careful shading shows love-marks on his collar bone and a fading bruise in the shape of a hand against his hips. He’s very obviously just been fucked, and she suspects it was the artist that did it.

She has to check the signature on the pieces then- just to be sure this is really the work of Captain America, who she expected to be the poster-boy for white straight conservatives. How had she never heard that Captain America was gay? Because clearly, he was bisexual at the very least. Straight men, or at least none she’d ever met, don’t devote this much loving detail to drawing another man’s genitalia. She sets the book aside and continues on through the box, this time searching for more sketchbooks like the last one. She finds three, all from under Captain Rogers’ floorboards. Clearly he’d tried to hide them, but from what she doesn’t know. She knows professional artists who would kill for even a scrap of this guy’s talent.

She takes the sketchbooks to her superior, who at first doesn’t believe her when she tells him who made them. Then he takes them to _his_ superior, and somewhere along the line they get authenticated. Then the media finds out somehow, nobody is quite sure how, and suddenly the museum is right in the middle of a media storm and a raging debate about Captain America’s sexuality. The girl who found the sketchbooks is interviewed, and some skeptics rake her across the coals- saying she forged them or is trying to ruin Captain Rogers’ reputation or some such thing, but the books are studied by scientists who can prove they were drawn around the same time Steve Rogers lived in New York and specialists say his signature is authentic. That’s when the debate gets heated. Books are written, whole documentaries made to support both sides of the argument. The debate is still raging when Steve Rogers is brought back from the dead, and, if anything, his return only makes it worse.

 

The first Steve hears of it, he’s in an interview with CNN and the reporter leans forward like a hawk about to strike and asks “So, Captain Rogers, do you have a comment on the debate about your sexuality?”

“Sorry?” Steve asks, remaining polite though he’s sure his confusion shows on his face.

“I mean,” she says, “the questions people have been asking ever since your, ah, drawings were discovered. About whether you are gay.” And she shows him _that_ picture, the one he’d drawn of Bucky after his friend had come in from a night dancing and couldn’t quite get the jealousy out of his mind. In the picture Bucky is naked, smiling in a blissed-out way as he sprawls across their bed. Steve had stayed up all night sketching him, the thought of climbing into that bed with him just too much when he knew that Bucky would never look that way for him. He thought he’d hidden the sketchbooks where nobody would find them. Nobody was supposed to know… oh. Shit. The reporter asked about his sexuality. She _knows_. This is it. They’re gonna kick him out of the military. And then the police are gonna come for him. And it’s not fair, because he hid it so well, never let anybody, not even Bucky, know. The color drains from his face and he can’t quite think of how to respond. He opens his mouth and nothing comes out.

Natasha must sense that something is wrong, because she comes up behind him and puts a hand on his shoulders. She looks down at the drawing, then at Steve’s face, and finally at the reporter. “Excuse us,” she tells her, with that sweet smile that promises death to anyone who dares defy her. The reporter sits back, a little shell-shocked, and Natasha leads Steve to the side of the news set and glares at anyone who comes within hearing distance.

“Steve, breathe,” she tells him. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“She- she knows. They know. I’ve got to-” Steve can’t even decide what he has to do. He’s too famous to do a runner and start over somewhere (not that SHIELD would let him get away with that anyway,) and he won’t use his influence to avoid getting arrested.

“Steve, calm down,” Natasha says, putting both hands on his shoulders. “It’s alright. Nobody is going to do anything to you. You’re safe.”

“But- _they know_. They _know_. I- I can’t…” He blinks. Natasha is _laughing_ at him.

“Steve. It’s fine. It’s… nobody cares about that any more. You don’t have to admit to it, if you don’t want to. Though, if you do, you’ll probably be helping a lot of LGBT kids out there who’re afraid to come out.”

“But…” Steve takes a moment to process that. “But won’t they arrest me? Or kick me out of the army?”

Natasha frowns at him. “No. They can’t. Why?”

Her confusion confuses _him_. “But… the regs say… and the law…”

Comprehension dawns on her face. “Steve, those laws got repealed years ago. Being gay isn’t something you can be arrested for anymore. In some states you can even get married now.”

Steve’s jaw drops. “ _What_?” he asks, shocked. “You mean, I could… you don’t think I’m unnatural?” Even with what she said before, he braces himself for the blow, for her to turn away in disgust, but she just leans in and kisses him on the cheek.

“Steve, just because you want to fuck a man doesn’t mean you’re unnatural. It means you’re human. There will always be some people who try to tell you different, but they’re no longer the majority.”

“I… oh.” He takes a moment to digest that. He’s not going to get arrested. He won’t be kicked out of the army. It’s a whole new world than it was seventy years ago, and he’s had a lot of trouble adapting, but this is one change he can really get behind. He’s still panicking inside, because even though Natasha says it’s alright, he lived for twenty-five _years_ knowing what would happen to him if anybody ever discovered his secret, but then he thinks about the reporter. She hadn’t acted like someone out to get him, but rather more like she wanted to clear up a question that had been bugging her. She said they’d been talking about his drawings, referring to them like it was common knowledge that he drew his best friend naked. And while he was mortified they’d found his sketchbooks, the ones with the drawings he’d done mostly from imagination and wishful thinking, he realized that they must have had them for a while before he was brought back from the ice. He gives himself a few minutes to think things over, asks Natasha some more questions, before making his decision. Then he goes back over to the reporter and sits across from her.

“I’m sorry for the delay. Natasha had something she wanted to discuss with me,” he tells the woman with a small smile. She nods.

“Alright then. Where were we? Ah, yes, your drawings. An intern for the Smithsonian found these in a box of your possessions, and, as you can imagine, it ignited a debate among historians and the military on what these particular pictures meant.” She shows him a few more, all fantasies he’d drawn in the hopes that drawing them would help him ignore the emotions in front of other people. No one could give a definitive answer on whether or not your drawings were done from life, and, if so, what they meant. Would you mind clearing up some of the confusion?”

“Ah,” Steve bites the inside of his cheek, the images before him drawing out old emotions he had tried so hard to bury. Grief. Guilt. And a love so strong it wouldn’t die even with Bucky’s loss. “Well,” he tugs at the paper, turning it so he can look at the detail he’d done on Bucky’s face. “Most of these weren’t drawn from life. Bucky, Sergeant Barnes, he didn’t know I was drawing him like this.”

“So these are of Sergeant James Barnes?” the reporter asks, interested. Steve nods.

“Yes. He is- was- my best friend.”

“Only a friend?” she asks, fishing. Steve smiles a little sadly at her, ignoring the camera behind her before it can make him too nervous to say what he must.

“Yes. Bucky never knew about this sketchbook. Or about how I felt.”

“How you felt?” she asks, prompting him. If she’d looked even a bit like she was expecting a scandal he would have walked away right then and there, but all he can see in her eyes is encouragement.

He takes a deep breath. “I was in love with him. In some ways, I always will be.”

The admission ignites another firestorm in the media. Steve gets countless calls for interviews, as do the other Avengers. Hate mail pours in, but even more numerous are the letters of support and thanks. Steve denies it, but a lot of them make him rather teary-eyed, especially the ones from young men in the military who were afraid to come out to their unit. Steve gets called to talk to gatherings of LGBT youth, and the more he learns about the current state of things, the more passionate and outspoken he gets about gay rights. He gives PR a constant headache whenever the issue is brought up in an interview, and it invariably is because everyone knows it’s one of the few topics that can get him talking. After his initial fear fades, he starts to tell everyone about what it was like back before the war, just how hard it was to be bisexual or gay, the constant fear of being discovered and all the terrible things that would happen because of that. He isn’t afraid of calling people out on racist, sexist, or homophobic behaviors. He’s more than happy to be known as a gay icon, and fights for the inclusion of bisexuals in LGBT spaces. His art, old and new, is featured in exhibits across the country, and proudly displayed on pride banners. His name becomes synonymous with ‘gay icon’, and while he was never the attention-seeking type, he can’t bring himself to regret it when he sees how much good he can do just by speaking about his own experiences.

Things have settled in to a new normal by the time he gets the call for the mission on the _Lumerian Star_. He’s even scheduled for a talk with PFLAG in New York a few days later. Of course that goes to hell along with everything else, and in the next few months he has little time to think of anything beyond Bucky and keeping the world safe. Thoughts of his old sketchbooks and his status as an LGBT spokesperson fall to the wayside as his focus narrows down to his friend and his team. It’s only after everything with Ultron that he accepts an invitation to a fundraiser, and only at Natasha’s insistence that he get out and do something to take his mind off everything.

 

Bucky first hears about the sketchbook while watching the news in a crappy motel somewhere on the edge of New York state. He looks up when he hears Steve’s name, and he’s unable to look away. There, on the television, is Steve, standing in front of a bright rainbow flag. The caption reads “Captain America to Attend NY Pride Parade.” He’s confused, until one of the news anchors says he’s one of the biggest LGBT icons in the world. Roaring fills his ears and fear eats at his stomach. They know. They know Steve’s secret, the thing he tried so hard to hide, even from Bucky. Steve doesn’t even know Bucky knows, that Bucky found those sketchbooks under the floorboards. He doesn’t know how badly Bucky wanted to tell him that he felt the same way, that all those girls were just distraction because he knew what would happen if he and Steve were found out. That it hurt like somebody tearing out his heart when he saw the way Steve looked at Peggy, but he was also glad because it meant that Steve, at least, could live a normal life. All his sacrifices, all those times he never spoke up because he didn’t want to see Steve arrested or killed, all of it will be for nothing, because the media knows. And they’re spreading it across the world, and now it won’t be long before the cops come for him. Bucky doesn’t remember getting on his stolen bike, or even deciding to find Steve. All he knows is that four hours later he’s scaling the building next to the Avengers tower, looking for a way to break into Steve’s rooms.

He finds Steve on one of the upper floors, sitting with his back against the glass wall. Closer inspection shows that he’s making another one of _those_ drawings, the ones that the news was playing on slide earlier, the ones of Bucky. The man with the wings, Bucky thinks his name is Falcon, comes in and Steve looks up to greet him. Shows him the drawing. The bottom drops from Bucky’s stomach. Here is where it comes, Falcon is going to go get the cops, or worse. But the man just nods and squeezes Steve’s shoulder. His lips move and Bucky reads ‘good job’ on them. He doesn’t understand. Is this Falcon also queer? Are he and Steve…? The thought tears at his heart. If Steve were to throw away caution and date a man, it ought to be Bucky, the one who has loved him since the day they met.

Falcon leaves. The sound of sirens down the street make Bucky tense, but they pass by the tower without stopping. He spots an open window on the floor above Steve and makes the jump. He has to warn Steve, get him out of the city before they can hurt him.

The room he lands in is set up as some sort of studio. Paints line shelves against one wall, and several easels are set up with half-completed canvasses. Bucky recognizes Steve’s art instantly. He’s been drawing scenes from the war, but scenes that show soldiers in various compromising positions. He recognizes a few of the couples as men he and Steve knew in the SSR, men he had wondered about but hadn’t ever known if they were gay or not. Others he doesn’t know, doesn’t think are any one person. The scenes are beautiful, and they leave an ache in him that he can’t quite name. He doesn’t have time to look further, needs to get to Steve. A portrait under a sheet stops him, and he lifts the cover to find himself staring face-to-face with… himself. It’s a beautiful drawing in intimate detail, done in charcoal and ink just like the drawings in Steve’s sketchbook, and where there should be empty space behind him, Steve has painted wings. Bucky drops the sheet and steps away. He doesn’t want to think about what that drawing means.

Steve is in his room, which is surprisingly easy to find. Bucky slips through the door and stops, uncertain. Their last meeting had been… violent. He doesn’t know how Steve will react, but he _has_ to warn him. He can’t believe Steve hasn’t seen the news yet, hasn’t already started running. But there he is, standing at the dresser looking through the sock drawer for something.

“Sam,” he says, without turning around. “Have you seen my phone? I gave it to Tony for a tune-up and he said he put it back in here, but it’s not…” he stops, going stiff as he realizes that whoever is in the room with him isn’t Sam.

“I’m not Sam,” Bucky says, and Steve drops the balls of socks that were in his hands and turns, eyes wide, expression open and so, _so_ vulnerable.

“Bucky?” he asks, and reaches out, before pulling his hand back, uncertain.

“Steve,” Bucky breathes, drinking in the sight of him. Then he remembers his purpose. “Steve,” he says, more urgently, “you have to get out of here. It’s not safe.”

“What? Buck, what’s wrong?” Steve asks, not moving.

“I was watching the news,” Bucky tells him. “And they said you were going to a pride parade, and, and, they think you’re queer, Steve. They were showing all sorts of drawings you did back… before. As evidence. You gotta get out of here before the cops come. Who knows what they’ll do to you when they get you? You- I can’t- _why are you just standing there_?” The last he yells, because Steve has frozen and looks torn between surprise and… amusement?

“Buck, it’s okay,” he says, now moving forward, slowly, as if afraid of spooking Bucky. “They aren’t gonna arrest me.”

“But they said-”

“It’s not illegal anymore,” Steve says, and Bucky swears he heard Steve just tell him being gay wasn’t illegal anymore.

“What?”

“It’s not illegal,” Steve repeats. “It’s okay. I’m safe. It’s… I’ve been talking to people about it. About how it was back then. It’s making a difference. Helping people like I was.”

“You… What?” This isn’t going how he imagined it. He doesn’t know what to do with this.

“Bucky,” Steve shakes his head and smiles fondly at him. “They think I’m queer because I told them I am.”

“You… oh.” Bucky takes a few steps further into the room and collapses onto a chair. “So… they really aren’t going to come arrest you? You’re safe?”

“Yeah, I am.” Steve comes to sit across from him, smiling slightly. “So, you saw me on the news and rushed over here to get me to run before the cops came to arrest me, huh?”

“Well… yeah. You- I mean, you’re… I wasn’t gonna let them just arrest you.” Being in Steve’s presence after so long is disconcerting. He wants so badly to go and sit next to Steve, to hold him just to be entirely certain he’s real. Instead, he grips his knees with his hands and watches Steve’s face. He’s smiling and looking like he can’t quite believe this is really happening.

“Thanks,” he tells him. “I… thanks. That means a lot, Buck.” He pauses, then tilts his head slightly and frowns. “You haven’t asked me if it’s true.”

“What? If you’re queer?” Bucky shrugs. “I knew that already. Didn’t say anything ‘cause I figured it was safer that way.”

“You-” Steve’s jaw works as if he is trying to say something but can’t quite figure out what. “You _knew_? And you never said. Did you…?” His eyes flick to a framed portrait on the wall, the one he’d done of Bucky in just his tags, and Bucky understands.

He shifts, not quite sure how to say what he wants to say. “Did I know about the drawings? Yeah. That was how I figured it out. You forgot and left the floorboard askew one night. I… I was curious. So I looked.”

“Then… you know how I feel about you.” Steve looks down, away, refusing to meet Bucky’s eyes.

“I do.” Bucky leans forward, and he can see that this is all too much for Steve, the suddenness of his return coupled with this revelation. He suspects it would be too much, even if he hadn’t just spent the last six months evading all contact.

“Why didn’t you ever say?” Steve asks, and Bucky can feel his heart breaking from across the table. It hurts, and it hurts even more to know that it’s his fault. Thankfully, there’s something he can do about it. He just has to be honest.

“I didn’t wanna screw things up for you. Being with me… you remember how it was like. It wasn’t safe. I wasn’t gonna do that to you, not ever.”

Steve looks up, and Bucky can see the hope growing in his eyes even as he tries to fight it. “You didn’t want me to get into trouble,” he says, a statement and not a question. He can read the answer in Bucky’s face.

“No,” Bucky tells him. “I always knew you were meant for great things. Anything we could’a had would have just held you back.”

“Bullshit,” Steve tells him, jaw set. “It would’a been worth it. I don’t care what I would have had to give up.”

“Even if it meant you couldn’t be in the army?” Bucky asks, though he thinks he already knows the answer.

Steve nods. “Even if I couldn’t be in the army. You were everything, Buck. I thought you knew that.”

“That’s stupid, Steve. You’re… you. You’re the best damn thing that ever happened to this country, and you would give all that up for what? A high-school dropout with ten bucks to his name? I was never worth half of what you thought of me, even then.” Bucky is aware that his voice is rising but he can’t help himself. Steve has done great things, and will do many more. He shouldn’t even consider giving that up just because of him.

Steve stands, and unconsciously Bucky mirrors him. “Don’t talk about yourself that way. You’re more important than anyone. I wouldn’t be here if not for you, and you know it. If I want to risk everything to be with you, that’s my choice and you can’t take that away from me!”

“Dammit, Steve! You know how dangerous it was! You could’a been _killed_! Some brute could have made us for a couple and jumped you coming home one day when I wasn’t there to protect you. Or the cops could have made a raid, or somebody could have ratted us out and landed us in jail. Why d’you think I came running the minute I heard people had found out? It ain’t safe, Steve! I don’t want you hurt ‘cause of me!”

“It _is_ safe now!” Steve yells right back. “I can be out now, and nobody can do anything to me! Sure there’s some violence, but there’s always violence and you and I know that better than anyone! I can protect myself now, just like I could protect myself then!”

“You shouldn’t have to!” Bucky’s dimly aware that their fight has drawn an audience. “It’s always been my job to protect you, even when it’s from myself!” He can’t quite tell what they are arguing about now, the past, or the present. It all seems mixed up in a jumble of emotions he’s finding it hard to express.

“No it’s not!” Steve shouts. “Not when you get hurt because of it! Not when you need help and won’t come to me for some ridiculous reason about it not being safe!”

“And how is it better when you get hurt?” Bucky demands. “I won’t put you in danger!”

“Won’t-! Bucky, it’s my _job_ to be in danger! All I want is for you to come home, and you won’t even do that!”

“Because I’m _dangerous_ , Steve!” They’ve moved around the table now, and are standing almost nose-to-nose, glaring at each other. It’s the closest he’s been to Steve in months and he wants to pull him into a hug, but he meant it when he said he was dangerous. He’s established that Steve is safe, now it’s time to get out of here before something else happens.

“I don’t care!” Steve waves his hands for emphasis, bright blue eyes wild as he yells.

“Well, I _do_!” Bucky shouts back.

“WHY?” Steve demands.

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU, YOU IDIOT!” Bucky yells, then covers his mouth. He had not meant to say that. Steve freezes, arms falling limp at his sides.

“You- you do?” he asks in a much quieter voice.

“Yeah I do,” Bucky tells him, because he’s already admitted it and he can’t take it back now. “I just don’t want to see you hurt because of me. That’s why I never said. I didn’t want to see you in trouble because of me.”

“Bucky,” Steve says, and his voice is equal parts sad, frustrated, and fond. “If I get hurt, it’s ‘cause of me. How many times are we going to have this conversation? I don’t care about the risk. I’d do anything if it meant I could be with you.”

“That’s why I gotta watch out for you, punk,” Bucky says. “You don’t ever look out for yourself.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “Guess I need someone around to watch my back. Think you’re up to the job?”

Bucky grins. “Do you know anyone else who can keep up with you when you get an idea in that thick skull of yours?”

“Jerk,” Steve says, but his smile puts the lie to the word.

“Punk,” Bucky fires back, and they grin at each other for a moment. And then suddenly Bucky has his arms full of Steve, and Steve is pulling him close and holding him tight against his chest, and this close Bucky can feel his body shaking in the effort to hold in his sobs. It should feel stifling, being confined like this, but it doesn’t. Steve’s arms around him feel like home. He buries his face in Steve’s chest and breathes in his familiar clean scent.

“I love you,” Steve whispers into his ear.

“And I love you,” Bucky tells him, and he knows he isn’t going to leave again. Right here, with Steve, is where he belongs.

 

The Smithsonian does an exhibit on Steve’s old sketchbooks a few months later. Steve and Bucky go, holding hands. Of course, someone sees Bucky standing next to one of the pictures of himself and puts two and two together. The media goes wild. Steve and Bucky issue a statement explaining things, and Bucky gets pulled along into Steve’s activism, just like always. Steve releases more art, portraits of the two of them, a series of scenes showing the everyday lives of the Avengers, and the ever-popular drawings of Bucky. It’s a little embarrassing, having his image so widely circulated, especially the one without clothes on, but he’s happy to see Steve getting acclaim for his art. Steve starts a new sketchbook. This one, he says, is just for the two of them. In it, he no longer has to rely on his imagination to draw Bucky. Now, he sits next to Bucky in their big bed and sketches until Bucky rolls over and pulls him down for some more vigorous activities.

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone is curious, the law both Bucky and Steve were worried about is the New York sodomy law, which, I believe, was repealed in 1980. I found some information [here](http://www.glapn.org/sodomylaws/sensibilities/new_york.htm) but didn't have a chance to do much more research because internet at my site is spotty. I'm working on something that needs a lot more research about LGBT life in New York in the 30's and 40's, but that won't even start being written until after August, when I have steady wifi access once again and have finished the first draft of my Marvel Bang, so if anybody has better resources, please let me know!


End file.
